


twenty years later

by aheartcalledhome



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 2nd May Is Not A Great Time For Anyone, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, His Name Is Remus Rubeus Potter, I Am Not Open To Criticism, I felt nice writing this which is how you know it's a crime, Light Angst, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:35:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22391878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aheartcalledhome/pseuds/aheartcalledhome
Summary: just because a war ends doesn't mean the tensions that caused it are gone. twenty years after harry potter dies to save the world, the potter family finds itself leaning on "constant vigilance" yet again
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	1. a lifetime of happiness

**Author's Note:**

> this week's hinny discord prompt was "where would you be pleased to find yourself locked up overnight?", so naturally, i wrote an angst fic featuring the next gen kids. how could i be more on brand? i truly do not know. i gave myself a time limit to write this, so i'm absolutely going to be editing after the whole thing is up.
> 
> shoutout to inareskai for entertaining my jokes about potter kid nicknames! 
> 
> hopefully this doesn't disappoint. if it is, please don't tell me, i'm delicate
> 
> -s

Harry had said no, when the Auror Department came calling after the war. He had returned to school, his last year occupied by Quidditch and Ginny, with a few haphazard dashes of homework thrown in to pacify Hermione. No one would dare fail the Savior of the Wizarding World over a few missing assignments, and if Harry had to carry the weight of the first seventeen years of his life forever, he reasoned that he should at least reap the benefits, now that he was no longer in immediate threat of death. He wasn't entirely surprised when Professor McGonagall asked him to stay on as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher after he graduated, and when Ginny left for Holyhead at the end of the summer, Harry had Apparated into Hogsmeade to face Hogwarts without worry for the very first time.

The years had passed like leaves flying in the wind, time a rollercoaster of lessons taught and learned, both in and out of the classroom. Ginny collected hardware on the Quidditch pitch and Harry saved folders of teacher evaluations from students who felt younger and more innocent with every passing year. First came a wedding, then a son, then another, and a precious little daughter, with hair the color of autumn leaves and a smile that made the unknown so much less terrifying. He gave them the names of people who had given of themselves to make sure he lived, in the hopes that his children would grow up to love as fiercely as their namesakes had, to make the hard choice without hesitation when the situation called for it.

Two truths stopped that poetry in its tracks: the first, that children don't often care about symbolism, and the second, that terrible nicknames have an often irritating tendency to catch on.

James Sirius Potter, who learned to climb before he learned to walk, became Monkey. If anything, the nickname encouraged him to be even more daring, climbing every tree in the copse behind the Burrow by the age of nine.

Remus Rubeus Potter, the single most affectionate child that Harry had ever had the pleasure of meeting, became Fuzzy Bear, Fuzzers, and a thousand shortened variations thereof. As he got older, he nervously confided in Harry that he preferred Bear to Fuzzy, if they were going to chose one word, and everyone promptly ignored his preferences in the matter, too used to yelling "Fuzzy!" when searching for him.

And Lily Luna Potter, named for two of the strongest, bravest women in Harry's life, became Pumpkin, thanks to her Halloween birthday, to the point that, when asked to write her name on her first day of primary school, she proudly wrote "Pumpkin L. Potter" in her best handwriting. When asked what the L stood for, she looked her teacher in the eye with the fiercest stare a pint sized little girl could manage and told her to pick.

In a twist of fate that Harry could hardly believe, even Pumpkin would be away at Hogwarts with her older brothers soon. He had one last year left with his little girl, and while he and Ginny had agreed that they were far too old to handle a newborn again, he yearned for those early days of midnight squalling (mostly by Bear), toothy grins, and the sound of soft, thudding footsteps racing down a hallway after a bath. These days, towels stayed on their racks, every load of laundry a manageable size, and no one complained about not being read a bedtime story. The few times he had tried, since Bear had gone off to Hogwarts, Pumpkin had just stared at him with butter soft pity in her eyes and asked him to read to her, making it clear that it was more for his benefit than her own. 

By the time May second rolled around, he was half-sure that the days of his children needing him had passed long ago, while he was knee deep in grading papers and writing exam questions. How had they grown up so quickly? These days, Monkey had passed Ginny in height and was strategizing for OWL revision, thanks to Hermione's incessant lectures about setting himself up for a bright future. Bear had settled into Slytherin, and even made a friend -- Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, in the family tradition of nicknames, had become Cory, much to his father's consternation. Pumpkin was cultivating her friend groups with care because, as she gleefully told Harry and Ginny over dinner one night, one could never be wanting for more information. 

There was nothing the universe was more prepared to do than disappoint a Potter. 

In retrospect, they had been tempting fate for twenty years.

That was just asking for trouble.


	2. a rude interruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when shit hits the fan, it smells bad, but at least it's a shared experience

The boys had come home on the evening of May first, as they had every year since starting Hogwarts. Harry had never asked Headmistress McGonagall for a special dispensation to do so, but in Monkey's first year, he'd demanded to come home and see his mother, then to stay the night, and had only gone back to Hogwarts after being plied with sweets. He'd pulled it off his second year as well, and when Bear had joined him, he'd roped his brother into the scheme as well. So when Harry found his sons standing outside his office, deep in conversation, with full rucksacks in their hands, he was nowhere near surprised.

"Coming home for dinner then?" He asked, while unlocking the door with his wand.

"For just dinner?" Monkey scoffed. "We'll come back with you tomorrow, when they make you give that ridiculous speech."

"Have you practiced?" asked Bear, who was always very concerned about being prepared for things. Harry often felt an overwhelming sense of relief that there were no prophecies about any of his children, but specifically on Bear's behalf. Bear, who often had whispered conversations with himself to pick the perfect phrasing for essays, would have collapsed under the weight. "I like to practice. Before I say things." 

"It's why it takes you twelve days to get your point across." Monkey rolled his eyes. "Come on, Dad, can we go?"

The three of them piled into the fireplace one after another, tracking soot onto the living room carpet as they tripped over each other in their eagerness to put their bags down. Pumpkin screamed so loudly at the sight of them that Harry thought the windows might shatter, tackling Bear to the ground with a shriek of unbridled glee, and Monkey eagerly waited his turn, unwilling to admit that he wanted his sister's enthusiasm as much as Bear, who was the best wrestler in the family. He threw his arm around Ginny instead, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. 

There was a routine to the evening of May first in the Potter household, one carefully developed over years and years of trial and error. There were always more mugs of hot chocolate than people (some with marshmallows and some without), all manner of tasty snacks (both Wizarding and Muggle) scattered about the house for a curious adventurer to discover, and plenty of warm blankets and fuzzy socks to go around. The evening of the first of May was for family stories and old home videos, and all the children, without fail, piling onto Harry like his life depended on a constant stream of their love. Even Pumpkin, who was often reluctant to be seen being sweet to anyone, would curl up right next to him and yawning so wide that he worried for her jawbone. There was room for improvisation, but there was an agenda. And no one ever departed from the agenda, no matter how dearly they wanted to.

When a warning chime sounded from the wards, they ignored it. Harry had made the wards so sensitive that a falling branch had once triggered them, and he'd forced everyone out to a safe house, arriving half an hour later, sweaty and wild-eyed, to inform them that there were no Death Eaters -- only a message sent by a half-rotted tree that they'd been meaning to chop down for years. Ginny had bothered him for years to turn them down, but it had never occurred to Harry to live any way other than constantly on edge. But tonight was the one night a year he relaxed, recharging so he could put up with the excessive celebrations that surrounded the second of May.

When a second chime sounded, this time louder, everyone looked at each other in fear.

When a third chime sounded, with a wave of his wand, locked and bolted all the doors and windows, layering shields on top of the charms that already protected their home. Bear yelped, grabbing his mother's shirt in his fists, and Pumpkin clung to Monkey, who was muttering under his breath as he glanced at every door or window like it might open to reveal Death itself. 

"I'll shut down the Floo connection." Harry said, already beginning the spellwork. "Ginny, take the kids. Run." The words felt too similar to his father's. His heart raced, his ears rushing with the sound. "You know where to go." 

The emergency Portkeys in the plastic box labeled "cornmeal" in the pantry would serve as insurance, and if all was truly well, he would join them at the safe house soon. His scar twinged (or maybe his head ached, he couldn't be sure), and his breath caught in his throat. Ginny met his eyes hesitantly, a question brewing on her lips, but he motioned wildly toward the hallway that lead to the kitchen. 

The fireplace emitted a grating groan before Harry felt comfortable enough to turn tail, snatching up the boys' rucksacks and his daughter's favorite stuffed animal, a lamb she'd creatively named Lamby, before running for the kitchen. Was he imagining the thumping on the front door? Was he imagining the footsteps outside the house? Was that the hiss of a match striking against a matchbox? Ginny had left the lid off the box when she and the children had left, and Harry grabbed the empty jar, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling of a hook sinking in just behind his navel and _pulling_ before--

He tumbled out into the front yard of an unassuming cabin in the woods, sprinting up to the front door. He knocked thrice, in the distinctive pattern that would alert Ginny to his presence, and when she opened the door, wand at the ready, he knew the answer to the question she was going to ask before she spoke it.

"What are our children's names?" She asked, voice wavering, eyes not quite focusing on him.

"Monkey, Bear, and Pumpkin." Harry said. At the very least, that would tell Ginny that it was either a member of their extended family or Scorpius Malfoy impersonating him, which was far less dangerous than a Death Eater. "We gave them real names, but no, they couldn't have that." He laughed mirthlessly, out of breath from running, and she gathered him into her arms for a second before ushering him inside, locking and bolting the door behind them. She collapsed into his chest, fear gripping her as tightly as him, and he rocked them back and forth, face buried in her hair. "I love you. I love you so much." He held her at arm's length for a split second, his eyes locked onto hers. "You know that."

"I've turned Harry Potter into a romantic." Ginny laughed through her tears. "To think, twenty years ago, you couldn't express any feelings at all."

"And it's all you." Harry said softly. "How are the kids?"

"Terrified." Ginny said. "Better once they see you. Did you find out what was happening?"

Harry shook his head before holding out the two rucksacks and Lamby. 

"I took these. You have documents?"

"Of course." 

For people two decades removed from the war that had chewed up their teenage years and spit them out, their exit plans were still meticulously planned and ready for execution at the drop of a hat. He didn't let go of her hand as they slowly made their way down the hall toward their children, who were tucked away in a back bedroom, all hiding beneath a sheet. Harry thought of a nursery at the top of a staircase, a little child in a crib not knowing what horrors lay before him, and the image was so intense that it took him a few seconds to realize the pressure he was feeling on his chest and arms was his children's arms wrapping around him and squeezing.

"We're okay, kids. We're okay." He repeated over and over again, like his words would make his wildest dreams true. "We're all here. We're all together. It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay."

"Is this because of... tomorrow?" Monkey asked hesitantly. "Because of the War?"

"We can only guess." Harry said, at the same time Ginny said "yes".


	3. all is well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the way to survive anything life throws at you is to have a good sense of humor about it

The Potter family spent the night crammed into a magically extended bed, toes digging into the backs of knees and breathing into each other's ears as they pulled the blanket this way and that. Not one of them slept a wink, too afraid that each moment might be their last together, and as the second of May dawned upon the Wizarding World, the Potters looked at each other bleary eyed and half asleep with grateful smiles. For once, Bear was the most outgoing among them, giving everyone a kiss on the cheek while everyone else simply stared at each other, stunned into silence. The strange sense of foreboding broke when Monkey, hair mussed from Ginny's hands running through it on repeat as she tried to comfort him, asked if they actually had to go to school today, in light of everything that had happened, the music of their laughter shattering it once and for all.

When the Daily Prophet arrived in the early morning, just as reliably as always, the front page article bore the news that their house had been attacked, extremist slogans painted on the outside along with a crude Dark Mark. Someone had broken through all their wards, planning the timing meticulously to catch the Potters at their most unguarded. It was only thanks to luck that they were not there, when the perpetrators had thrown a rock through the living room window, sending shattered glass flying. There was no telling what could have happened, the writer said, if the Potters had been home. It was so lucky that they had left, though no one knew where they were.

Harry found himself shocked that his suspicions had been anywhere near true -- he had spent years carefully cultivating the illusion that every fear of his was an overreaction, that while he knew the seeds of dissent were still growing, they wouldn't rise again so quickly. Twenty years felt like far too soon to see those same symbols of hate again, especially with his children being so young. Twenty years felt like far too soon for people to forget the mistakes of the past, but as he thought about it more and more, he found himself surprised that nothing had happened sooner.

"It seems like you'll get a few days off from school." Harry said, trying desperately to sound optimistic. "I don't think anyone should know where we are for a few days yet."

"Yes!" Pumpkin hollered. "No school!"

"The repairs will be expensive." Bear said solemnly, turning the page. He looked awfully like Arthur Weasley in that moment, for all he was a clone of Harry at twelve, minus the glasses. "Does Reparo work on things so broken?"

Harry barely swallowed back the words "I've tried it on myself, so obviously not", but judging by the look in Ginny's eyes, she knew what he'd almost admitted. 

"Someone tried to _break into our house_ and all you've got to say is 'the repairs will be expensive'?" Monkey said, disbelieving. "Are you _kidding_?"

"He is your father's son." Ginny sighed. "For better or for worse."

"I think we can get a nicer window this time." Pumpkin cut in. "The old one was ugly."

"I picked the old one." Harry said, frowning.

"I said what I said." Pumpkin crossed her arms. "You know, this place is better. Who decorated it?"

"Your mother." Harry admitted grudgingly.

"There." She said. "I told you. You've got bad taste in everything but people you marry. It's a good thing we're all improvements on you."

Monkey shrugged helplessly when Harry shot a glance his way. "She's not wrong, Dad."

"Don't know what I did to deserve being locked up with you." Harry sighed. "Awful, every single one of you. And don't think I haven't noticed that you didn't defend me, Ginny."

"What's there to defend?" Ginny said innocently. "If there's something, I haven't seen it yet."

Bear folded the Daily Prophet into a neat rectangle before storing it underneath a couch cushion.

"There." He said, wiping his hands off on his trousers. "We'll never have to see it again."

"That's right, Bear. Not if we don't want to." Harry agreed. 

There would be a lot to clean up, and a long way to go toward fixing the cracks in himself and Ginny that this had uncovered, but it was all doable. If he had learned anything in the twenty years since the war, it was that everything, no matter how impossible it seemed, could happen if you tried hard enough.


End file.
